


Friendly Competition

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-27
Updated: 2014-09-27
Packaged: 2018-02-18 23:12:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2365484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty is more than a little displeased when Sherlock beats him in a competition for the hand of Molly Hooper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friendly Competition

Molly stood, perched on the small platform she’d been ordered to stand on as she disdainfully watched the painfully boring procession pass below her. This was the day she’d been dreading since she was little. The inevitable day she’d be auctioned off as a prize to whomever could prove he was “the most worthy”. It was all too cliche for her tastes. Despite that fact, though, she added to it by vehemently loathing every last God-forsaken person that was in this competition.   
As she watched with utter boredom she noted, to her dismay, that both younger princes from two nearby kingdoms had decided to join the competition. She knew both James and Sherlock all too well and wanted nothing to do with either of them. One of them would win. They were both clever and, more than that, they both wanted nothing more than to outdo the other. She groaned quietly and retreated to her seat on the platform.   
Both men were from extraordinarily well-to-do nobility and would certainly mean a life of relative comfort and security. But to be forever trapped with someone she hated, she could barely stand the thought. She leaned on the arm of her chair, letting her hair drape loosely around her face.  
She hardly noticed when a trumpet sounded to announce the start of the competition. It honestly didn’t interest her in the slightest. There were about ten men in total, and they were all going to attempt to prove themselves by some sort of contest? What was it? Archery? Jousting? She glanced down at the first two contenders. Fencing. Right. How manly. She scoffed, rolling her eyes.   
One by one the participants were taken out of the competition until the final two were left standing. An announcement was made, revealing the two to be “Prince Holmes” and “Prince Moriarty.” That’s a surprise. I think I’m going to have a heart attack and die from that surprise. Molly faked a smile in the general direction of the two. Wouldn’t that be nice.   
What did come as somewhat of a surprise, however, was how long the two of them managed to go on for without landing a single point until finally Sherlock managed one. “And here I thought this would be hard, Moriarty. I’m ashamed of you.” He raised an eyebrow and Jim raised a middle finger. The match went on for far too long and any slight interest Molly had had before was now entirely gone.   
It wasn’t until both men had landed four points each and, to be as absolutely cliched as possible, this final round would determine the winner. She paid a bit more attention, figuring this round was actually the only one of any importance at all. She told herself that she didn’t care who won, but that was a lie. She knew the two boys well enough to know that for whatever reason Sherlock had joined this competition, it was undoubtedly for absurdly selfish reasons. Whereas it was slightly more likely that Jim was actually somewhat interested in her.  
Finally the match ended. Sherlock had come out on top. Truth to tell, none of the three were happy with the outcome. Sherlock, himself, not rightly caring whether he’d just won a stuffed bear or a wife. He had only wanted to one up Moriarty in their petty feud, and knew this would be the perfect way to do so.   
Molly begrudgingly walked down the steps that separated her from the man that had just won her and couldn’t care less. He wasn’t unattractive, that was at least a small perk. His cold and uncaring demeanour was what turned her off of him. She followed protocol and curtsied in front of him, holding back a sneer of disgust as he simply nodded, rather than returning the gesture with a bow.   
She sighed, looking around to what few onlookers there were. She glanced past Sherlock to Jim who was mostly just glaring at the curly haired man. Looking back to her soon-to-be husband, she could only think one thing: fuck. 

~~~

 

Molly gazed around the interior of the castle she’d been led into. Not by Sherlock, of course, heaven forbid he pay her any attention. But she did discover one perk about her newly acquired home: it was gorgeous. The architecture, the paintings, the view, everything. But she was still furious about it.  
She’d been given a week from the wedding, as is customary, to move into her new home. Over the period of that week she’d only grown to hate Sherlock even more. He was cold, unwelcoming, and entirely disconnected. She doubted he even knew her name.   
As she slowly boiled inside, one of the guards that was leading her around chatted away nonstop. She was fairly certain he was discussing which rooms were what and where they were. She did feel sorry she wasn’t paying attention, and was certain she’d regret it when she’d need to inevitably ask directions to the kitchen.   
Suddenly the two guards stopped and turned to her. They gestured to the door on their left. “Sir spends most of his time in here. He’s requested we bring you here after completing your tour.” She glanced towards the door and then back to the two, sheepishly. They only stared back at her. She sighed and thanked them, though they probably should’ve taken better care to ensure she had been listening to their speech.   
They walked away, leaving her standing alone in the hallway. Maybe I could just jump out that window… Oh, stop it. Stop it. You don’t really know him. Maybe he’s just one of those… tough shells. You can crack him. If anyone can, you can. It wasn’t the most persuasive pep talk, but it did the job.   
She quietly knocked on the door and waited. No answer. She knocked again. Nothing. She sighed and knocked one last time with more force. Finally a murmured reply came from the other side. She shrugged and pushed the door open to find an absolute disaster.   
There were papers strewn everywhere, only one chair out of about seven were actually upright, books littered the floor, and the only organized place was a small desk that looked as though it hadn’t been touched in years. In the middle of this mess sat a disheveled looking Sherlock Holmes. He was holding several papers and a book, along with half of an apple.  
Good god. Molly picked her way into the room, taking care not to step on too many papers. “Sherlock?” She leaned towards him. “Sherlock are you all right?” He simply continued to mutter something about whatever was on those papers. She reached down and lightly touched his shoulder. He didn’t respond. “Sherlock?” She shook him a bit, resulting in a slight jump and a very agitated glare.   
“What?” He demanded. “I’m busy.”   
“Well, it’s just that I was told you wanted to see me?” She shifted uncomfortably.   
He looked at her for a moment, studying. “Of course.” He said finally. “How much do you know about this?”   
She grabbed the piece of paper he’d shoved at her and looked it over. The Houston-Davis Case. “I don’t understand. Why are you--”  
“Of course you don’t understand.” He groaned, popping to his feet and snatching the paper away. “No one does. I don’t understand.”  
“Why do you say it like--”  
“What about this one?” He flung a paper at her. “Or this one?” He tossed another one. “What about all of these?!” He threw the rest of the papers he was holding into the air. “There’s nothing to connect these people, why are they all being killed the same exact way? 34 stab wounds and slice down the back. What does that even mean?!”   
“Sherlock when was the last time you got any sleep?”  
“Nine murders in two weeks.” He muttered, running both hands through his hair.   
“I don’t understand.”   
He turned to look at her, suddenly. He didn’t say anything, just stared. After about a minute of this she started to back away, uncomfortably when he sprang forward to grab her shoulders. “Molly, what happened two weeks ago?”  
“Wha- I- please let me go.” She shrunk back, trying to escape.   
“What happened two weeks ago?! Something important must’ve happened, what was it?”  
“Well, the contest, but--”  
He froze, still tightly gripping her shoulders and staring straight at her. She squirmed uncomfortably. Isn’t this romantic. At least three minutes passed in total silence before he finally broke it in the most anti-climactic way she could imagine.   
“God damnit.” He muttered, peeling away from her. “Damnit.” He sat back down on the floor, recollecting the papers he’d flung everywhere.   
Molly took a small step forward. “Did I--”  
He held a finger to his lips as he went back to studying whatever those files were.   
“Look, if you’re just going to keep acting weird I’m gonna leave…” She started slinking towards the door.   
He looked up at her with a sort of fury in his eyes that glued her to the floor. “You’ll stay here.” He whispered harshly.   
She was furious. “Who do you think you are?! You can’t--”   
“Shut up!”  
“I will not!” She argued as she watched him mess with his precious papers.   
“Molly, honestly would you--”  
“Would I what?” She demanded. He was staring at the papers, pale faced and looking somewhat like a frightened child. “Sherlock!”   
He shot to his feet and grabbed her by the wrist. He slammed the door open and drug her out into the hallway, much against her will.   
He was nearly a foot taller than she was and startlingly strong, she didn’t have much to fight back with. She tried anyway. After a good deal of playing tug-of-war with her arm Sherlock sharply turned a corner, yanked her up a flight of steps and into a nearly empty room where he finally released her arm.   
“How dare you?! I am not just a ragdoll you can drag--” She was cut off as his hand clamped over her mouth.  
“You don’t like me, and I know that.” He whispered. “But I need you to trust me. You’re not safe.”   
She pried his hand away from her face. “What?”  
“Just stay here. I’ll fix this.”  
“No, what do you mean I’m not safe?”   
“Just--”  
“What do you mean?!” She backed away from him slowly.  
He sighed. “The names. The names of the victims. Whoever is killing them is spelling something with the last initial.”   
“How did you…?” He looked up at her curiously. “Right. Of course. You’re clever.” She rolled her eyes. “But what was it spelling?”   
“‘Molly Holmes.’”

~~~

Molly Holmes. Molly Holmes. Molly Holmes. She hated the sound of it. What do they even mean, Molly Holmes? Are they threatening to kill me or what? She leaned against a wall, bored to tears. She’d been stuck in this room for three days already. The only interaction she’d gotten was when Sherlock had someone send her some food and drink.   
At least it seems he knows me well enough to lock the door. She shrugged and closed her eyes. Had it not been locked in at least three different ways and had a table or desk of some sort pressed against it she would’ve escaped long ago. She’d tried jumping out one of the windows, or she would have if it wasn’t a 100 foot drop. She was fast becoming furious with Sherlock for abandoning her here.   
She was just about to mentally go on another rant about how much she hated him when a noise from the opposite end of the room caught her attention. Her eyes fluttered open and she gasped, pressing herself against the wall. Standing across from her was Moriarty himself. “What…?” She scrambled to her feet. So much for 100 feet.   
“Surprised, Molly? You shouldn’t be.” He grinned, sauntering towards her.  
“How did you--”  
“None of your concern. Whatever you’re going to ask is none of your concern.” He shrugged, stopping about a foot away from her. “It’s a shame that Sherlock won that contest. I was just going to keep you for myself, but now all of these other people have died and that was just for show.”  
“What are--”  
“See, every time you begin a sentence with a question word, I’ve already tuned you out.” He waved his hand dismissively. “Now, my poor Mrs. Holmes--”  
“Hooper.”  
“Sure.” He rolled his eyes. “Now, I’m afraid your time is up.”  
Her eyes widened and she did the only logical thing she could think to do: let out an ear piercing scream.   
After her stunningly loud cry for help, Jim flipped a dagger into his hands and growled lowly. “Well, now look what you’ve gone and done. I’m going to have to kill whoever comes after you now too.”   
What have I got? Anything? Nothing? Book? That’ll do. She yanked a book off of the desk next to her and held it defensively, only bringing a laugh from her soon-to-be killer.   
“Oh, heaven’s no. Not literature!” He feigned fear, just long enough for Molly to take a swing at him, successfully ripping the knife out of his hands. She swung again, blindly, only to have him stop the book inches from his face and tear it away from her.   
Typically it’d be unlike her to do anything overly brash or without thinking it through, but this was life or death. With no weapon and no defense she did what she could. She launched herself at Jim, succeeding in sending them both to the ground.   
A moment later she was yanked to her feet by a very disheveled Moriarty. He grabbed her by the throat and pushed her against the window, trying to push her out. She couldn’t brace herself against the wall or the floor but she tried anyway. “You killed all those people!” She shouted.  
“They aren’t the only ones. And I’ll gladly kill more!” His eyes registered fury, but also frightening amounts of madness. She paused to stare at him before quickly making a decision she knew she’d instantly regret. Though not for long. She wrapped her arms around him and tipped backwards, yanking them both out of the window.  
She didn’t even have time to think before someone caught her by the ankle. The skirt of her dress fell over her face, and she couldn’t see who it was, but she knew anyway. She felt Jim latch onto her wrists and heard as he cursed a mile a minute at her. She shook her arms, but that did nothing. She was slowly registering that whoever was holding her was looking somewhere she’d rather they didn’t, but that wasn’t her main concern right now.   
She twisted her wrists in Jim’s grasp. He was screaming at her but she couldn’t hear anyway. She was getting dizzy from being held upside down. Finally, with an aggressive yank she slipped her hands out of his grasp. What she did finally hear, was a sickening crunch as he hit the ground.   
When she had been pulled back into the room and had readjusted her dress, she looked up as Sherlock, warily. He stared back, blankly, for a moment before gently grabbing her face in his hands and pulling her forward to meet his lips to hers. After a bit he pulled away and frantically looked her over muttering “Molly, oh Molly.”   
Once he determined that she was fine he wrapped her in a tight hug for just a second before pulling away. “I had no idea… He’d scale a wall, just to kill you.”   
“Why?” She whispered weakly.   
“I never thought he’d be so desperate.”  
“Why did he want to kill me?” She elaborated.   
He stared at her for what felt like the millionth time. “He wanted you for himself. And if he couldn’t have you, no one could.”  
“Wouldn’t that have been better though?!” She cried, sliding to the floor. “No one would be dead, no one would have died.”   
Sherlock knelt in front of her. “Maybe not. But he was sick. You wouldn’t have been safe.”   
“But no one would have died!”  
“He’s killed before, Molly.” She looked up at him, wiping at her eyes with her sleeve. “And I certainly wouldn’t have been better off.”   
“What?”  
“I love you, Molly. I know you hate me. But I love you. I always have.” For once his stare wasn’t intense and demanding. It was soft and afraid, like a little lost child. That’s all he was: lost and afraid and he needed love. She leaned into him, holding him tightly. If that’s all he wanted, she certainly had enough to share.


End file.
